Forever

This blog died.  I kept telling myself it was okay to neglect Pieces of My Mind because all the other blogs weren't getting posts, but since Spilled Ink AND The Word Nebula were posted on five/four days ago, that pathetic excuse is no longer legit.
So here I am, posting on this dead blog.  Here is what I have of Forever:

One

Gone forever in Death’s raging blaze.  Burnt to the ground, ashes left to dance away in the breeze.  All of them.  Mom, Dad, Sam.  They’re all gone.  Never again will I hear their voices.  Never again will I feel Mom’s slender arms wrap around me.  Never.  No more.  They’re all gone.  Forever.

*          *          *

I sit numbly on a new leather couch that smells disgusting.  It’s cold, too.  Too cold and too smelly to sit on comfortably.  But that’s the way Aunt Elaine’s furniture is; cold, foreboding, unfriendly.  Not the way our furniture was; soft, cozy, welcoming, smelling of Mom’s lavender air freshener.  That’s all over now, though.  I won’t sit on my favorite green couch ever again, because it’s gone.  Everything’s gone.  My life, my family, my home, everything.

A voice that contains a hint of forced cheerfulness wakes me from my brief reverie.  It tells me something about new beginnings, new family, a new life.  But I don’t want anything new.  I want my old home, my old life, my old family.

Someone takes a picture.  The bright flash forces me to cover my eyes.  I curl up into a ball, waiting for all this to end.  To wake up from this nightmare my life has become.  For all the cameras and microphones and smelly leather to go away.

It doesn’t.

I hear Aunt Elaine talking to a reporter about the tragic accident that swallowed up my family.  As if she actually cares.  I know she doesn’t, because the only things Aunt Elaine cares about are big houses, money, expensive furniture, and fame.  Not that she’s actually famous; she just does her best to act that way.  She thinks that adopting me and going in for interviews is going to make her a celebrity.  The cameras in her house will only last so long, though.  Soon the press will tire of the tragedy that happened to the Smith family.

Someone, I think Uncle Mike, picks me up and carries me upstairs into the pink room that is now mine.  He sets me gently on the pink bedspread and tries to give me a kiss.  I roll over and bury my face in the down.  It’s not that Uncle Mike is mean or greedy like his sister Elaine.  It’s just that, even though my name is Valentine, I don’t want any more love in my life.  I’ve realized it’s too painful when those close you are snatched from your arms and kidnapped for eternity.  No, that won’t ever happen to me again, because there won’t be anyone I love to take away anymore.  People tell me I should give it another chance, but I’m not risking another shattering of my heart again.  The numerous cracks in it are already enough.  I won’t give any more valentines to people.  When I’m old enough, I’ll change my name so that every time someone greets me I won’t be reminded of the terrible thing called love.  Maybe I’ll even change the way I look, because people always say I look like a valentine too, what with my dark red hair, pale skin, rosy cheeks, and heart-shaped face.  But maybe I won’t, because my freckles and brown eyes aren’t romantic at all, so they detract from the stuff that is.  I wish Aunt Elaine would let me wear my usual blue jeans, t-shirt, and navy blue sweatshirt, because these yellow cotton dress and itchy white tights and shiny black Mary-Janes Aunt has put me in.  People tell me I look very pretty, but I would rather be comfortable and not-very-pretty.  I sigh, close my eyes, and try to fall asleep.

*          *          *

When I wake up, the bustle and chaos downstairs is still there.  I wonder if I could sneak past all those cameras and reporters and go to the park.  Swinging my legs off of the bed, I slide off and tiptoe to the first floor, having not taken off my shoes when Uncle Mike dumped me onto the bed.

*          *          *

I manage to evade all the flashing lights and slip out the door, away from the stifling atmosphere of Aunt Elaine’s house.  Now that I’m outside and in the fresh air, my mood lightens and I even skip a bit down the sidewalk.  Walking into the neighborhood park, I settle on a swing and move back and forth slightly, as if I’m the pendulum in Aunt Elaine’s grandfather clock.  I start daydreaming and get lost in my memories.  The happy scenes flash in my mind: the family picnic last summer, my birthday party last year, Sam’s first day of preschool.  I’ve become oblivious to my surroundings; too busy trying to relive that part of my life when everything was perfect that I don’t notice the smiling, brown-haired lady who’s clad in a green suit that approaches the swings.  It’s not until she says hello that I’m jerked out of the past and back to the torturous present.  I stare into her hazel eyes and look at her questioningly.  She doesn’t look like a reporter, just an average businesswoman getting some fresh air during the afternoon.  I just don’t understand why she’s at this park; there aren’t any businesses where she would work within five miles.  When I look at her, the woman smiles.

“Hello, Valentine.  How are you?” she says.

I’m not concerned she knows my name; it’s been all over the front page of the town newspaper.  Almost everyone in this area knows my name and what I look like.  I hate it.  Realizing the lady is waiting expectantly, I swallow and say in a barely audible voice, “Fine.”

She frowns and an expression of mock puzzlement spreads over her visage, making my face cloud.  “Just fine?   Ah, Valentine, surely you must feel better than that!”

Anger starts to boil inside me and I feel myself turning red.  Trying to keep calm, I gulp and hiss, “Just fine.  Now go away.  I want some privacy.”

“Tut tut.  Manners, girl.” The lady doesn’t move.

I know I’m about to lose it, but I don’t want to rip my dress trying to kick this lady.  I’m not sure what to do, because I’m going to snap pretty soon and I need something to let my anger out on.  I clench my fists as stare at my feet.

“Valentine?” Leave it to her to break the silence.

“What?” I snarl.

“It was at 10:33 A.M. when you were struggling with question 12c on your math test that a flame in your house appeared.”

I freeze.  She’s lying, of course.  No one knows how or when the fire started.  But still.  Her words make me stop.  The anger abates slightly.  “How do you know?”

“Ever since you were born I have been tracking you, Valentine.  It was only a matter of time before something happened around you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dear girl, you are a Destroyer.”

I blink and shake my head, confused.  “What?”

“A Destroyer,” the woman replies wearily.

“I heard you.  I was wondering what a Destroyer is.”

“Someone who destroys things.  Honestly, Valentine, haven’t you a brain?”

“I do have a brain!” I snap.

“Then use it,” she replies coolly.

I shut my mouth and try not to scream at her.

After ten seconds she speaks again.  “Valentine?”

“Mm.”

“Would you like to come with me?”

“Where?”

“To the Destroyers.  We have a base in Spokane where you can train with children your age.”

I’m not sure if I trust this woman, but I figure the Destroyers’ headquarters will be better than Aunt Elaine.  Besides, I’ll be with my kind.  I swing my legs back and forth for a while, and then I look up.  “I’ll go.”

*          *          *

We arrive in front of a pristine-looking office building a few hours later.  My dress and tights and soaked with sweat because of the heat, and my neatly brushed hair is now rumpled.  Thirsty, hungry, and tired, I stumble up the steps behind the woman.  She pulls open the door, marches me into the reception room, pushes me into a chair, and walks into a hallway, leaving me with a grumpy platinum blonde lady.

“Name?” she snaps.

“Valentine Marie Smith,” I mutter.

She types something and glances at the computer screen in front of her.  “Twelve years old, orphaned, living with an aunt . . . correct?” she says.

“Sadly, yes.”

“Good.  Just what we want.  Come, I’ll take you to Ms. Hill.”

I gape at her.  They think it’s good my family is a pile of ashes now?

“Hurry up, now!”

I stand slowly and follow her down a series of hallways before she stops abruptly in front of a polished oak door.  She knocks sharply and smiles as the door opens to reveal a tall, skinny, gray haired, bespectacled, woman, dressed in a midnight blue business suit.  Sharp lines throw her face into distinct profile.  She glares at me and turns to the receptionist.  This is one lady not to anger.  “What did you bring her here for?”

“New recruit, Ms. Hill.  A girl named Valentine Smith.”

“Ah, yes, I was expecting her.” Ms. Hill pulls me into her office by my arm and shuts the door the blonde lady’s face.  Sitting down stiffly, she glares at me again.  “Valentine.”

I stifle a yawn and look at her blearily.  “Huh?”

“I am Molly Hill, the director of the Destroyers’ base here in Spokane, Washington.  I am known as Ms. Hill.”

“Okay.” I’m in no mood to talk.

Ms. Hill shoots me a disapproving look and turns her gaze to a pile of papers on her desk.  After a silence, she presses a button and says, “Judith! Escort this new recruit I have in my office to the dormitories.  She’ll be sharing with Erikson.  The female, or course.  Now!”

A few minutes later a smiling, mousy haired girl of about fifteen walks into the office.  She motions for me to follow her, and I do, although I’m trying hard to keep my eyes open.

After what seems like eons, she points to a door.  She’s still smiling.  “That’s your room.  You’ll be sharing it with Vivian Erikson.  If you have any questions, ask her or me.  I’m Judith Hill, by the way, the youngest daughter of Ms. Hill.  My sister’s Lilith.” She walks down the hallway and disappears around a corner.

I shrug and turn the brass doorknob of the door and push it open.  Inside I see a dirty blonde girl my age sitting on the bottom of a bunk bed, reading.

“Hello?” I say tentatively.

She doesn’t answer.

“Hello?” I repeat, this time a bit louder.

The girl (apparently Vivian) looks up and pulls some ear buds out of her ears.  She grins.  “Hey.  Welcome.  What’s your name?”

I give a big yawn and sway slightly.  “V-Valentine,” I mumble.

“Hello, Valentine.  Gosh, you look tired.  Pull off your shoes and go into the upper bunk.  Dinner’s at 6:30, so you can take a long nap.  Today’s Saturday, so there aren’t any classes.”

I kick off my shoes and climb gratefully into the bed.  I shove the sheet and bedspread to the end and lay down.  It doesn’t take long for me too fall asleep.

Two

Vivian wakes me up at 6:00 so I can change out of the horrible yellow dress and into an outfit someone left outside the door.  I’m delighted to find a lavender t-shirt, blue jeans, white canvas sneakers, and a navy blue sweatshirt with fur lining on the hood.  Exactly what I wore before it all happened.  I guess I should be scared that these people know so much about me, but I’m too happy about being able to peel off my white tights that I don’t think about it much.  Vivian lends me her hairbrush, so I manage to flatten my hair and tuck it behind my ears.

She leads me back downstairs to where the offices are, but turns into a different hallway stuffed with chatting students.  I get swept into the throng and I’m pushed down the corridor and into a huge room that smells delicious.  If the food tastes as good as it smells, then it can’t be called a cafeteria.  Cafeteria meals don’t count as food.  There are around a hundred students sitting comfortably at regular cafeteria tables in here, but I can’t find Vivian, so I snatch a tray, grab some Mac & Cheese, and sit at a table full of kids my age.  I scoot over to the other end and listen to their conversation.

“Guess what!”

“What?”

“You know how Ms. Hill was having trouble with Reese Connor of the Builders?”

“’Course I do.  Who here doesn’t?”

“I don’t know.  Anyway, we finally managed to get rid of her.”

“Sweet! So now all we have left are .  .  .”

I lose track of what they’re saying.  They managed to get rid of this Reese Connor?  They?  As in . . . the Destroyers?  And these kids are happy about that?  What the . . .?

I’ve suddenly lost my appetite, so I throw my dinner away, run out of the cafeteria, bound up the flights of stairs, and burst into my room.  No one ever told me “getting rid” of people was ever part of the deal.  Shaking, I climb into bed again the pull the covers over my head.  I’m still in my clothes and shoes.

I hear Vivian come in, and she whispers my name.  I don’t answer.  I try to retreat deep into my mind, away from the hateful world.  I can’t, though.  The words that kid said keep coming back, and I can’t escape from them.  We finally managed to get rid of her.  I bury my face in my pillow and let tears leak out of my eyes, wetting the fabric.  I realize I’m shaking.  Taking a deep breath, I sort of my thoughts the best I can and murmur, “V-Vivian?”

“Yes?” she mumbles, her voice muffled by the pajama top she’s pulling over her head.

“I-I heard some people at dinner.  They were . . . were talking about Reese Connor.”

“Hmm.”

I can tell she wants finish dressing and brush her teeth, but I continue to talk.  “Well, one of them said . . . said . . . that . . . we . . . as in . . . like . . . the Destroyers . . . well, we . . . finally . . . managed to get . . . get rid of her.  I-is that true?”

Vivian sighs.  “Valentine, you need to understand.  The Destroyers are warring with the Builders right now.  War means death.  It has to.  If we’re too soft with each other, the war will never end.  We have to kill, Valentine.” She pauses, then adds, “Now get down and change.”

When I hear Vivian leave for the bathroom, I climb down and pull off my outfit.  Someone’s left a soft cotton two-piece pajama set outside the door, so I put that on.  Then I climb silently up to the top bunk.

I roll over and wipe my eyes, sucking in the snot that’s streaming out of my nose.  This can’t be happening.  I thought death would disappear from my life if I came here.  I should’ve known.  Destroyers.  Duh, Valentine.  What a jerk I am.

Three

An unpleasant bell wakes me from my fitful sleep at 7:30.  I’m grateful to escape the nightmares that plagued me during the night.  Mom’s and Dad’s and Sam’s faces kept appearing, pitiful looks on their faces.  It was terrible.

It’s Sunday, so I can wear my usual clothes instead of the girls’ school uniform.  I’m thankful for that; I want to stay out of the horrendous outfit as long as possible.  It’s a dress, for starters.  At least it’s dark blue.  And then we have to wear gray tights, or knee-high socks right now, since it’s spring.  At least the shoes, who appear to be Mary-Janes at first, actually have soles with treads, so I can run.  But, worse than the dress and tights I’ll have to wear in winter, is the symbol on it.  The Destroyers’ emblem is a flame.  A flame.  And it’s on the uniform.  How can I wear a flame?  Of all the things to choose, those frickin’ adults had to choose a flame.  I thought I could never hate a place more than I did Aunt Elaine’s, but I was wrong.

Angrily yanking my shirt over my head, I ignore the ripping sound coming from the seams I’m splitting in pulling it on like this.  I must be really preoccupied or something, because I’m about to walk out of the room with my jeans on backwards until a weary-looking Vivian points my dressing mistake out to me.  I blush I turn my jeans around, then walk down to breakfast stonily silent.  I don’t want to talk to anyone, or even go to the cafeteria and get the latest death reports, but I’m hungry and feeling faint.

So I reluctantly walk with the other students to the cafeteria and seize some breakfast.  I must have been squeezing my chocolate milk a bit too tightly, though, because a thin stream of brown liquid squirts out of a hole in the cardboard and hits a teenager in the eye, making her mascara run.  It would’ve been funny if not for that look she gave me.

Backing away quickly, I sit down in an empty table and turn to my strawberry yoghurt quietly.  It’s delicious, but my mind is elsewhere.  Again and again, that kid’s words keep replaying.  I want to throw up.

Breakfast is over before I know it, but as I’m tossing the plastic yoghurt container into the trash a crackly voice I recognize as Ms. Hill fills the room.  “Students, it’s time for our monthly maze challenge.  Please change into your appropriate outfits and head down to the maze yard.  We have rules to discuss with the new students.”

I see several students begin to talk excitedly, and they pour out of the cafeteria and up the stairs.  I’m swept upstairs with them, and I stumble into my room (I got pushed accidentally by someone) and see some clothes by the bed with a piece of paper that says “Valentine” pinned on top.  Next to the little pile there are some running shoes.

When I unfold them, I see that there is a collarless navy blue t-shirt and a pair of gray sweats, apparently designed for exercise.  I have a feeling I’ll be thankful for this outfit when I’m in the maze.  The thought of what Ms. Hill might have put in there is absolutely terrifying.  I hear people thundering down the hall again, so I pull the clothes on hastily and head into the corridor, wondering if it would’ve been wiser to stay in my room.  I’ve had no training, but I’m interested in this obstacle course.  And Ms. Hill did mention discussing rules with “new students,” to I’m pretty sure one is me.

*          *          * 

“Alright students, you know the rules.  Make it through the obstacle course and grab the prize inside for yourself.  Each of you take a different entrance, okay, oh, wait.  Truman! Be a gentleman and stop fighting with Locke! There’s an open entrance over there,” Ms. Hill yells over the excited chattering of the students.

I look at the obstacle course.  It seems to be an innocent maze, that is, except for the shimmering white walls which make it a labyrinth.  Those are most definitely not innocent, and I wonder if they shimmer because of a force field.  But force fields only exist in science fiction.  Or do they?  With all that’s happened in the past day, force fields wouldn’t surprise me.  But why would those walls need force fields?

“Good.  Now that everyone’s settled, let me review the rules.  No blowing each other up, because then we’ll have to blow you up if you do,” Ms. Hill waits for the snickering to die, “and, as you know, those walls are Destroy-proof, so don’t waste your time and energy trying to blast those out of your way.  Also, we’ll need some people to help the two new recruits we have.  Hill, oh, no, not you, Lily dear, Judith, I want you with Smith, and Johnson, you’ll be with Wright.”

Ah, so that’s why the walls have force fields: So kids couldn’t barrel straight through the maze.

Judith smiles as she strides confidently to me and explains quietly, “There are things we have to Destroy in the maze.  This time you just follow me and I’ll do all the work.”

I nod, speechless.  Things we have to Destroy?  What the heck does that mean?

“On the count of three.  One, two, three!” Ms. Hill raises the whistle to her lips and blows.

Four

I plunge into the maze after Judith, who turns around sharply and puts a finger to her lips.  “C’mon, we don’t want to be attacked,” she whispers.

Attacked?   This place keeps getting better and better.  I follow Judith dazedly as she warily progresses through the maze.

“Aha, our first obstacle,” she murmurs.  I look up, and see a thin hedge in front of me.  I try to push my way through, but even though I can see the other side of the hedge, the thin branches don’t snap or bend.

“You have to Destroy it,” Judith explains patiently.  Stepping forward, she closes her eyes and stretches her arm out in front of her.  There’s a sudden burst of acrid, gray smoke, and when it clears, the hedge is gone.  “See?”

I’m about to answer negatively when we here footsteps to our left.  Judith and I freeze, and Vivian steps into view.  Judith seems to have a short mental battle with herself, then steps forward and says, “Hello Vivian.”

Vivian starts, apparently just noticing us, and turns to Judith.  She takes a deep breath and steps forward, so she and Judith are about five feet apart.  “Do it quickly,” Vivian whispers.  “I won’t resist.  Just do it.  Please.”  Her eyes are wide with fear, and when she closes them, she trembles.

Hurt registers in Judith’s face.  “I’m not a monster,” she murmurs.  “I was going to let you go.”  Vivian opens her eyes in surprise as Judith’s eyes narrow and she swipes her hand in a downward diagonal motion.  Vivian crumples to the ground, and Judith drags me away, my mouth hanging open.

Vivian.  Judith.  Vivian.  What happened?   Is Vivian gone?   Like Sam?   Like Mom?   Like Dad?   Gone?   Forever?   Vivian.  Judith.  I don’t notice Judith and panting angrily, or that she’s holding on to me tighter than she should.  I don’t notice anything besides by whirling thoughts.  Is she gone?

“Stop!” Judith hisses.  I look around and realize I had continued walking when Judith stopped.  We’ve reached a fork, and while Judith seems to be considering whether or not to go straight, right, or left, while I’ve forged right ahead.  Judith closes her eyes momentarily, as if orienting herself, then points right.  She jogs lightly down the path and motions for me to follow.

*          *          *

Judith freezes.  Footsteps.  Again.  And voices.  It sounds like a whole lot of people.  One of the voices sounds oddly familiar . . .

“Guess what!”

“What?”

“You know how Ms. Hill was having trouble with Reese Connor of the Builders?”

“’Course I do.  Who here doesn’t?”

“I don’t know.  Anway, we finally managed to get rid of her.”

“Sweet! So now all we have left are .  .  .”

A lead ball falls neatly into the center of my stomach.  It’s them.  “J-Judith,” I stutter-whisper, “I-I know those kids.”

“So do I,” she mutters out of the corner of her mouth.  “Almost everyone does.  They’re the worst: Destroying everything they can, including pants and underwear.”

My eyes widen, but I know right now’s not the time to absorb this new information, although I do make a mental note to avoid these people in the future.  I’m sure being new would hardly help my chances of having my jeans and underwear turned to ash in the middle of a hallway.

“Valentine!  C’mon, pay attention.  You space out way too often.”

I snap back to the current situation and peek around the wall.  They’re having a whispered argument, and then the biggest member of the group (a tall, muscular boy who looks like he would squash anyone who challenged him to pulp) makes a rude hand sign to one of the smaller guys.  He steps back in fear and nods obediently.  The tall boy begins striding confidently down a narrow corridor, and soon the kids are out of sight.  Judith and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“They’ve obviously heading to the prize, and we can’t just let them go.  Mom would kill me.  So, Valentine, we’re going to do something crazy.  We’re going to follow them and you’re going to destroy some pants.  Got it?”

My mouth drops open.  “Uhwha?”

“God, can’t you listen to a simple plan??”

“Well sometimes plans are so absurd I have trouble taking it in the first time someone says it.  And if you think I’m competent enough to destroy just pants, you’re wrong.  I’ll probably get some things you don’t want me to,” I snap.

To my surprise, Judith doesn’t seem offended or hurt in any way.  She just snorts and rolls her eyes, as if I’m the biggest doofus in the world.

“Why don’t you just do that thing you did to Vivian?”

“I can only do that so much, and if I do one person, they’ll find me within seconds and repay the deed.  But if someone loses their pants – and maybe something else – everyone will be out of their minds trying to protect their pants.  Trust me on this, Valentine.”

I take a deep breath.  “Fine.  Let’s get it over with before I change my mind.”

*          *          *

“Okay, remember.  Let something, anything, get you angry.  Create an image of the tall guy’s pants in your mind and concentrate on it, but still keep the anger.  That’s important.  If you need to, close your eyes.  You’ll feel it when you Destroy the pants.”

I nod numbly, still trying to process what I’m about to do.  “Got it.”

“Good luck.”

*          *          *

“Wrahhhhh!  Omigod!”  The boy lets loose some extremely vulgar language (I haven’t heard some of it before), and Judith claps a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling.  I have to admit, cussing aside, it’s pretty amusing.  The guy’s jumping around like a hyper bunny, looking for his now nonexistent pants, and trying to cover up his Star Wars boxers.  All at the same time.  I hear some snickers.

The boy pauses for breath, then mutters another colorful phrase.  He raises his voice.  “Well, what the hell are you waiting for?   Find the-” another swear word, “-who did this!”

The boys sidle into view and disappear down a corridor of the labyrinth that leads to a dead end.  I’m not sure if they know that, but it leaves Judith and me free to tiptoe out from the shadows and get a good glance at the boy who fell victim to my first “controlled Destroy,” as Judith calls it.  Well, at least we get a good look at his hilarious expression (mainly mortified, some disgust, and other unidentifiable emotions) before Judith swipes her hand in a downward diagonal motion and he falls to the ground.  That washes away all my amusement and replaces it with an uncomfortable feeling, but I smile halfheartedly at Judith and follow her closer to the center of the maze.

*          *          *

“And let me present you the winners of our monthly maze challenge, Valentine Smith and Judith Hill!”

A group of girls cheer and the rest of the students clap for a few seconds then stop.  Ms. Hill hands me a silver, one-foot-tall trophy.  And she’s smiling.  “Valentine and Judith, you each get choose your partner in the next partner-based activity, and you get to keep your trophy.  Alright, students, shower time.  You all smell.  Oh, and Judith dear, please come with me.”

The students amble into the building, laughing and chatting happily.  Maybe this place isn’t so bad after all.  I’ve learned Vivian and the tall boy will be perfectly fine (what Judith did to them is a technique used in competitions), and Ms. Hill doesn’t seem so bad after all either.  She’s nice to the students and has a sense of humor, and while she can be severe, all teachers need to be like that.

I’m getting used to it.  I’m finally winning here.  And I feel as if I fit in.  My old family might be gone, but the Destroyers could be a new one.

As you can see, I'm rather fond of timeskipping.  Ah well.  I hope you liked it.